


Silk

by neocitybynight



Category: K-pop, Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Lee Minho | Lee Know is Whipped, Light Smut, Masturbation Interruptus, SKZ is a frat, but you're kind of with han, for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:53:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neocitybynight/pseuds/neocitybynight
Summary: Lee Minho is totally whipped for you. Always has, always will be, but you’re with his fraternity brother Jisung. A chance encounter including a black silk dress, a bathroom, and a frantically masturbating Minho might bring his fantasies closer than he thinks.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Reader, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Reader
Kudos: 49





	Silk

_That damn dress_. Minho has always considered himself to have good self control, but as he looks at you, walking up the brick-and-mortar porch of the SKZ house, a gentle smile on your face, all he wants to do is take you in his arms and kiss you, feel the soft brush of silk and skin against his hands, tangle his hands into your hair and-

And you walk right past him, placing your hand on your boyfriend’s chest as you lean up for a chaste kiss. Tonight’s the mixer with Gamma Gamma Gamma, SKZ’s sister sorority, black tie, which would explain why you’re standing on his porch, wearing a black, open-backed slip dress that does everything for your curves, pulling tight over your ass in a way that has heat shooting to more areas than just his face.

“Pick your jaw up before Han sees,” Changbin whispers, shoving an elbow into Minho’s side.

“Changbin, shut up, I’m fine,” he says, though his pulse would say otherwise. Shoving his hands into his suit pockets, he slouches over to the polished oak minibar, a gift from some famous alum a few years back. 

“You’re really not subtle, dude,” Jeongin, the newest pledge and bartender-for-the-night says, a shit-eating grin on his face. “If you’re that into Jisung’s girl, why don’t you just tell him? It’s not like they’re official or anything.”

Minho just growls. “No one asked you, maknae. Crown Royal on the rocks, you know how I like it.”

Jeongin giggles, glad to have gotten one over on his hyung. “Just saying. She’s hot, if she were into younger guys-”

_“Don’t even think about it.”_

“See? You do care,” Jeongin says, sliding a tumbler full of amber liquid towards him. “Don’t take my advice, but honestly, why wouldn’t she be into you? Everyone wants to date a Sigma brother.”

_Not her,_ Minho thinks, taking a long sip that sends fire screaming down his throat. He’d met you in your ceramics elective freshman year, long before things like Greek life and black tie mixers were in the picture. He’d been working on a pot, or what maybe would turn out to be a pot (clay just didn’t ever seem to want to cooperate with his small hands), when you’d come up behind him.

_“Need help?” He’d turned, expecting to be embarrassed by the TA or, God forbid, the actual professor, and instead was met by the sight of you. You weren’t wearing anything special, just an old college tee and cutoffs, a smudge of clay on your cheek, but there was just something about you, something instantly magnetic, maybe your gentle smile, or the noonday sun streaming through the glass windows of the art studio, giving your entire gorgeous body a kind of halo._

_“Wha-uh, hi, yeah, no, I’m fine,” Minho blushed, realizing exactly how much he sounded like an incoherent caveman who’d just seen a woman for the first time._

_“You don’t look fine, you look like you’re about to throw the wheel out of the window. What are you trying to make, a pot?”_

_He’d looked down at the sad, wilted thing, that in all honestly looked more like a penis than anything. “Um...”_

_“Here, it’s all about the spinning rate,” you said, pointing to the pot in a ‘may I’ gesture. Minho nodded. “See, you place your hands here.” You placed your hands around the base. “Then draw it up...” you slid your hands slowly up the pot, which threw its oddly skinny, cylindrical shape into sharper relief. “Then down...” you bit your lip as you repeated the motion a few times, gently stroking the pot down into a wider shape. Looking up, you caught the way Minho was cringing, and burst out laughing._

_“It looks like a penis, I know,” Minho burst out, covering his eyes with his hands._

_“No, no, I wasn’t going to say it, but...” you took your foot off the wheel, wiping your forehead with your hand, smudging more clay. Minho found this oddly endearing. “I’m sorry, I just came over here, manhandled and insulted your, er, pot, can I make it up to you?”_

One cup of coffee later, and Lee Minho was officially whipped. You were so funny, so pretty, and just unlike any girl he’d met before, the way you held your head up and didn’t care what people thought, how you had the ability to pull off clay-stained jeans just as well as the dress you wore tonight without blinking. He loved that duality, how you could just as easily mingle with your sorority sisters as spend a night in with the boys, playing COD and pounding down Coors like it didn’t taste like horse piss.

But Minho being the shy, bad-at-pottery guy that he was, never admitted his feelings for you, and you’d ended up with Jisung instead. Well, ended up meaning _hooking up_ , free to see other people, but there was no way Minho would do that to his frat brother. 

Which was why he ended up in the upstairs bathroom, eyes squeezed shut, stroking his cock while he imagined taking you in his arms, feathering kisses down your shoulders as he pushed down the straps of your dress, dropping to his knees in supplication as the silky fabric pooled around your ankles. He’d grab your thighs then, tongue darting out to lap at your pretty pussy, feeling your hands tangling into his hair, your legs shake as he devoured you.

“Ah,” he moans softly. Then louder, except this time it’s your name, as he tugs on his own hair, just the way you would. In his fantasy, you’re pulling him up, yanking him towards you by his tie, crashing your lips together as you reach for the zip on his pants-

“Minho?” The fantasy pops like a soap bubble as he hears your voice. Panic flashes through him, and he desperately tries to stuff his still-hard cock back into his pants, to little avail.

“Just a second,” he calls, panicking, trying to think of dead babies, anchovies, his halmoni, anything that will kill his raging boner.

“Are you throwing up again? I told Jisung not to let you pregame,” you say, and to his horror, the door swings open. He freezes, a deer in the headlights, wanting to sink into the floor and die as you take in the scene. Minho, hair mussed, lips bitten, cock straining against his hastily zipped dress pants.

“Ah,” you say.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

You hold up a hand to silence him, a sly grin slipping onto your face. “Is that for me?”

Minho’s heart jumps, almost as much as his cock as you take a step forward, palming him lightly. “I’m sorry, this must look awful.”

“On the contrary, this looks pretty good,” you say, slowly raking your eyes across his body. “Do you do this a lot?”

“Do I-ah,” he moans as you stroke him, breasts pushing into his chest as you lean in to whisper in his ear.

“Do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

“All the time,” he whispers, hating how needy he sounds.

“So responsive,” you breathe, laughing softly as he shivers, bucking against your hand. “Much more than Jisung.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, giving his earlobe a nip as you start to undo his belt buckle. “I bet you’re bigger than him, too. Fill me up so nicely.”

“Uh-huh.” Minho’s nearly out of his mind, the sweet, musky vanilla-y whatever scent rolling from your soft skin clouding his senses like some forbidden fruit. 

“Do you want to fuck me, Minho?” you say, pausing in your ministrations so suddenly he almost whines.

“A-aren’t you with Jisung?”

“He wouldn’t mind,” you say. “He’s a good boy, doesn’t mind sharing. Do you want to be a good for me, Minho-yah?”

The pet name makes him weak at the knees. Not trusting himself to speak, he nods. 

Your hand snakes to the door handle, pressing the lock, then goes back to stroking him, the other reaching to push a silky strap down your shoulder. “Good. Because I think of you too, even if you are shit at making pottery.”


End file.
